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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736817">Desperate Measures</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky'>quantumducky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 04, very self-indulgent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:20:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen offers to help, and Jon is just tired and miserable enough to accept. Turns out her idea of "helping" is to turn his brain into confused mush and then make that Martin's problem. Somehow, it all works out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>CucumberKale's Best of the Best The Magnus Archives Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Desperate Measures</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i have been trying to finish this for MONTHS i'm so glad to finally be posting it</p>
<p>cw for canon-typical suicidal thinking</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve decided to help,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Helen says, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re really not looking well, Archivist,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why don’t you come with me? I know just what you need.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon doesn’t trust her. But Jon also hasn’t slept in… well, he’s not sure how long, because it’s been even longer since he left the archives, or had anything approaching a full night’s sleep or an actual meal consisting of food and not statements, or had anyone even want to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>around</span>
  </em>
  <span> him- not that he can expect any different, given what he’s done, what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is-</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he… he can’t keep going on like this. He’s so tired. So even though he doesn’t trust Helen, and half expects her to lead him through her door and never let him out again… when she comes to him offering </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>making it better</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, poor thing, you need a break,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he doesn’t bother fighting whatever her </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> intentions may be. Even if she does steal him away permanently- at least he can’t make anything worse, that way, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And once the Distortion’s door closes behind them, Helen says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is for your own good, you know,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he does at the very least believe </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> true.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be inaccurate to say he loses track of time, because that would imply he had a decent grasp of it in the first place. But he loses… well, nearly everything else. His own thoughts twist into unrecognizable shapes; colors blur and spin in his vision until he’s stumbling along mostly blind, relying on the ever-changing form of Helen beside him to keep him upright and moving. His mind and senses leave, but she hasn’t yet, and Jon is somewhat grateful for that. He doesn’t bother trying to reason with her, convince her to let him go. She’ll only do whatever she wants regardless of what he says, and worse, if she finds him too irritating she might </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave.</span>
  </em>
  <span> One of the few coherent thoughts he has left, kept sharp by his own fear of it: if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to die here, he doesn’t want to do it alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s all too easy to accept. Awful as it sounds, this fate isn’t so much worse than the life he was living before; it’s not as if he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>already </span>
  </em>
  <span>spending half his time in a miserable heap on the floor, curled up against a terrible headache and the sharp pangs of the Eye’s hunger. The only real change is aesthetic- and Helen being here, always crooning her inhuman sympathy, telling him he need only suffer through a little longer. He’s too far gone already to worry over the implication that he’ll be dead soon- only takes what comfort she can give him, in her way, and tries his hardest not to make her tire of holding his hand through this any sooner than she inevitably must. It’s all he has.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Helen finally leads him to a door and opens it, revealing a corridor </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> one of her own, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want to go through- not if he’s going to be alone on the other side, left to his own devices. She doesn’t give him a choice. She pushes him through, waves goodbye and wishes him luck, like she hasn’t just made scrambled eggs of his mind only to kick him out into a world he can no longer understand. A sliver of a thought crosses his mind that it would have been kinder to kill him. And then her door is gone, and he’s alone, standing in the upper levels of the Magnus Institute. The words come to him easily, but he struggles to attach any meaning to their forms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks, swaying in place, and a few vague bits of knowledge drift within reach. He knows where he is, and… that office, there, that’s where Martin is. There’s something else to it, he thinks- some reason he can’t just knock on the door and go in- but his thoughts scatter again when he tries to remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> Martin doesn’t want him there. When he notices Jon, he’ll tell him to go away. But he can’t have noticed </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it should be some time before he does, and Jon can hear his voice from inside and has already made his shaky way toward it, leaning heavily on the wall to keep from falling. That’s all the moving he can do, just now, when he has the strength and durability of overdone pasta and everything has already started to blur and tilt on him again. He slides down the wall and curls up in the doorway, clinging to the distant rise and fall of Martin’s voice as his body finally gives out and his mind slides into fevered dreams.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Martin, in the middle of reading through another potentially Extinction-related statement, hears a soft thud just outside the office door. It’s strange, since no one else usually comes up here, and he thinks distantly that he should go out and check on it. Maybe someone wandered upstairs by mistake and then… dropped something? They’ll be wanting it back, if it’s anything important- he ought to take it downstairs, if only to ensure they won’t come back looking for it. There’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason</span>
  </em>
  <span> no one comes up here. He’s still recording, though, and then there are notes to make before he forgets them, and between one thing and another it’s a good half-hour before he actually gets up from his desk and checks the corridor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does not find some unlucky Institute employee’s lost wallet. What he does find is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jon,</span>
  </em>
  <span> sitting slumped against the door such that he nearly falls over when Martin opens it. He’s about to be angry- what is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking,</span>
  </em>
  <span> trying something as ridiculous as camping outside the door when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> Martin can’t talk to him- until Jon’s eyes flutter open and he looks up, unfocused and lost, and he’s so obviously delirious Martin doubts he even knows where he is, let alone has enough clarity to have passed out here on purpose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon?” He crouches down next to him, taking in more of his sorry state. The man is feverish and shivering, bruises under his eyes like he hasn’t had a bit of rest in </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and his eyes drift between Martin and his surroundings with equal uncomprehending confusion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Christ,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon, what did you do to yourself </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon doesn’t answer, doesn’t react at all, and it’s hard to tell if he’s even noticed him. But when Martin reaches out and touches him- oh, he’s burning up, that can’t be good- he makes a little sound and leans into it so eagerly he almost collapses entirely. Martin catches him on instinct, and suddenly he’s got his arms full of half-conscious Archivist, clinging to him and trying with the little strength he has to get even closer. Martin isn’t used to being touched these days. He flinches and pushes Jon away- trying to be careful with him, but mostly trying to get him propped against the wall again rather than against </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s not difficult to pry him off. When he gets him at arm’s length, though, he sees the tears streaking his face, desperation in his eyes as he grasps weakly at Martin’s sleeve, and it occurs to him that Jon’s been acting as if he can’t see or hear anything around him properly. His resolve falters for a moment, just enough for Jon to sway toward him and latch on, and he’s so blatantly relieved to find him still there. Martin doesn’t quite have the heart to try moving him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to do. Or rather- he knows what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do, but he also knows what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> do, and they aren’t the same thing at all. It’s quiet for a minute, just Jon’s ragged breathing as he fails to stop crying. He calms a little, eventually, and tilts his head up with some difficulty to look at Martin. His eyes seem to be focusing, at least, but there’s no more understanding there than before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then: "Is… 's this- a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dream?"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon slurs, an accusatory edge in his barely-audible voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Martin tells him, “you’re awake. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you were hallucinating a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses for a long, </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> moment, and then asks another question, small and hesitant and fragile. "…Martin?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin takes a slow breath. “Yes,” he says as neutrally as possible. He can feel Jon relax, once he knows for sure who he’s leaning on, and he swallows against the growing tightness in his throat. “You, you can’t just stay on the floor here, come on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can start helping him up, though, Jon flinches, simultaneously retreating into himself and clinging to him even more. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately, and the words keep spilling out, weak and indistinct as they are. “I, I know you don’t want- but I can’t, I, I don’t know where else to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I- you… you don’t have to… stay.” He shuts his eyes tightly and releases his grip, falling back against the wall, and that seems to require more effort than it took to hold on in the first place. “I won’t bother you,” he promises. “I can- I’ll be quiet, you’ll hardly know I’m here. Just… don’t ask me to leave just yet, please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I didn’t mean it like that,” Martin manages, although he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean it like that and isn’t sure what he thinks he’s doing. His heart is twisting in a way he’d thought it was done with forever, and against the better judgement of the rest of him, he pulls Jon against him again while ignoring the way his skin burns at the contact. “There’s a sofa in the office, alright? You can have a lie down until you’re feeling well enough to get downstairs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Jon breathes. Martin thinks he said that, at least- it’s hard to tell, with his face buried in his chest, all his effort focused on practically climbing inside his ribcage now that he isn’t being rejected. He doesn’t respond otherwise, or make any move to stand, but Martin really isn’t going to let him keep sitting on the floor like this, so he starts nudging him along anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He helps Jon up and inside without much resistance and then turns to close the door, locking it as well just to make himself feel better, and he really doesn’t think he can be faulted for assuming Jon will, you know, sit down where he’s supposed to. Instead, he turns back around and sees- well, at first, no Jon at all, which is worrying, but then he looks closer and realizes the poor man has wedged himself under the desk and made himself into the smallest ball he can. He pushes the chair aside to kneel down in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon… What are you doing down here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon raises his head, and his hair is a wild mess where his hands have been grasping at it. “It’s all still spinning,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. “I just wanted it to stop moving, just for a minute, but it didn’t work and now I don’t think I can get up again, I’m sorry i-if I’m not supposed to be here, it’s so hard to remember, but I don’t mean to, to be in the way.” His hazy eyes clear just slightly, just for a moment, and widen in realization. “Oh. Martin… this is your desk, isn’t it? I… I’ll move. So you can use it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He unfolds himself shakily and emerges from under the desk, and Martin catches him before he can try to- drag himself into a corner so he won't </span>
  <em>
    <span>inconvenience</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone, or something. Jon startles at being touched and freezes in place, though he only has the energy for a second of that before it falls to Martin to hold him up. “That’s fine,” he says, as patiently as he can. “I’m… taking a break anyway.” It may as </span>
  <em>
    <span>well</span>
  </em>
  <span> be time for him to take a break. More often than not, he just… doesn’t. Easier to avoid feeling if he’s buried in work. “Why don’t you come sit with me?” He gets an almost shy nod in return and pulls Jon to his feet again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon collapses onto the sofa, then slumps over on Martin as soon as he sits down next to him. Martin tells himself he’s not letting this derail his day. He’s only staying here long enough to calm Jon down and get him settled, and then he’s going back to work. But right now, there's a hot, tearstained face buried in his shoulder and a body curled trembling against his side, and it doesn't look like he'll be able to get up any time soon. After a moment, he lets his arm settle around Jon's waist and feels him relax a bit in response to the anchoring weight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Martin probably ought to get some kind of explanation out of him now, before he relaxes too much more and crashes straight into the nap he obviously needs. “Jon?” He nudges him a little to get his attention. “Think you can tell me what happened now?” He doesn’t have nearly enough optimism in him to chalk it up to some ordinary, mundane illness. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something</span>
  </em>
  <span> must have happened, for the Archivist to wind up in a state like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I…" He trails off before he's even begun and looks around, struggling for words. He's calmer, sure, but no less disoriented than when Martin first found him. "Helen," he finally says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She did this to you?” His voice turns sharp, and he regrets it when Jon shrinks back from the tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I, I know I shouldn't have gone with her- she said she would help, a-and I… Hoped she wasn't lying. But she wouldn't let me </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> and this is where his voice wavers, "I w-wanted to stay and she wouldn't let me and now </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to take care of me instead of working when you don't even want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, because I'm such an </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span> I actually thought-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breaks off, crying again and fighting to stop. "I should go," he gets out. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to… deal with this. I'll just…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No- no, you won’t,” Martin interrupts, because Jon may be more coherent than before, but clearly it won’t stop him from being an idiot. He tries to stand, and Martin tugs him back with barely any effort before he can- fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>collapse,</span>
  </em>
  <span> probably, going by how his legs shake with the attempt. “Look, I can’t say any of this is- </span>
  <em>
    <span>ideal-”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he sees Jon flinch- “but look at yourself. I doubt you’d even make it to the door. Just- sit here and rest, for now, and go back to the archives once you’re feeling better enough to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> there. Alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the fight drains out of him in moments. He looks a little disbelieving, but too tired and out of it to linger on that. "Thank you," Jon says into his shoulder, subdued. It looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his lip and stays quiet, hesitantly leaning his full weight on him again. Martin is quicker, this time, in wrapping an arm around him. After all, he needs to make sure he stays safely put somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The improvement in his mental state doesn't last. Jon alternates between flicking his terrified gaze around the room at whatever horrors the Spiral's touch has conjured in his mind and latching all the focus he can muster onto Martin, as if he could narrow the world down to only him by sheer force of will. He keeps himself near silent through it, biting back the little noises of fear that try to escape him. In fact, he seems determined to hide how badly it's affecting him altogether, but his body betrays him, trembling uncontrollably as tears slip out despite all his efforts. Martin has been trying to keep some distance mentally and emotionally, even if he’s stuck sitting here until Jon is calm enough to be left alone, but he’s just getting worse again and ignoring it isn’t doing either of them any good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not real,” he says softly, setting his phone down on the arm of the sofa and turning his full attention to Jon. “I don’t know what you’re seeing right now, but it isn’t real, there’s no danger here. You can relax.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon takes several measured breaths before responding, but it doesn’t entirely steady his voice. “I know. I-it’s just. Hard to… hard to tell for myself, what’s real a-and what’s just… Spiral. Other than you,” he adds, quietly enough that Martin isn’t sure he means him to hear it. He does, though, and bites his lip hard to avoid reacting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” he says carefully, “I’m definitely real, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A very small nod. No doubt more movement than that would only make everything worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then how about you close your eyes, and if anything really does happen, I’ll tell you?” He squeezes Jon’s arm- it’s something of an awkward gesture, but in his defense, he’s rather out of practice. “You can at least be sure you’re not seeing anything real if you have your eyes closed, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon huffs a laugh, mutters something like “not necessarily,” but he doesn’t actually protest. Just presses his face into Martin’s shoulder and shuts his eyes. “And… you won’t leave?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses slightly too long before answering. “I’m not going to make you deal with this by yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Delirious as he is right now, Jon doesn’t parse that for the not-quite-agreement it is. He exhales in relief, relaxing further and… kind of subconsciously </span>
  <em>
    <span>cuddling</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, really. Martin adjusts his hold on him so he won’t unbalance himself and fall. After a moment of hesitation, he brings his other arm up around him as well, rubbing his back a little, hoping to soothe him into sleeping off at least some of this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It works. Ten minutes later, the man is completely limp against Martin’s chest, with only the occasional hitch in his breathing as he dreams. Somehow, even after falling asleep, he’s insinuated himself closer and wound up fully in Martin’s lap. He doesn’t dare get up now for fear of disturbing Jon and having to go through the whole process of getting him to sleep all over again. Sighing quietly, he resigns himself to being stuck and retrieves his phone so he can be at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>sort of</span>
  </em>
  <span> productive. He still isn't getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> done; he hasn't been sleeping well and this is honestly the most comfortable he can remember being in ages, even with Jon fever-hot and bony on top of him, and he's trying not to doze off himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stay like that for nearly two hours before the door unlocks and opens, and Martin internally groans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is unexpected, I have to say… Martin, could you explain what’s going on here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s tone is as blandly affable as always, but Martin has spent enough time with him by now to tell that he's annoyed. Not that he can exactly blame him. He briefly scrambles for a lie, anything he can say to make this situation slightly more excusable, but only ends up feeling slightly disgusted with himself for the impulse. Not as if Peter would be fooled, anyway, when it’s obvious enough what’s actually happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He had a run-in with Helen and passed out in the corridor, so I let him in to rest until he’s well enough to get downstairs without hurting himself.” He’s worried for a second about sounding detached enough to avoid suspicion, but talking to Peter, his voice goes flat and empty all on its own. Convenient, that. “Wouldn’t stay still until I sat with him. Did you want something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…I see.” Ignoring the question, Peter crosses the room and examines Jon- as well as he can without actually touching him, at least. “I always have wondered why they let the Distortion hang around down there. I’m mostly surprised that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt any of them before now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re always welcome to do something about it,” Martin reminds him, running low on patience. “Seeing as it’s part of the deal that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> things like this from happening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hardly my responsibility if they take it upon themselves to invite the monsters in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not as if </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> know how to make her leave!” He knows Peter doesn’t like that, him making himself a </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the archival staff. That’s why he says it. “No one </span>
  <em>
    <span>invited</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, anyway, she just… shows up. And if you know of </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> way to make sure she doesn’t get anyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>lost</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>really appreciate it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it’s that important to you, I’ll see what I can do,” he assures, pleasant and meaningless. “But, Martin, speaking of that deal… I can’t tell you what to do, but I think you know this wasn’t a good idea. You’re risking quite a bit of progress coming undone, and we don’t have time for that kind of setback.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs. “I know that. Believe me, I do, but-” He feels Jon stir in his arms, and shoots Peter an annoyed look because, after all, it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his fault for all the noise of coming in and talking to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmfh,” says Jon, and Martin hums in response mostly to indicate that he’s still here. It takes him a good ten seconds to work out how to lift his head in order to actually be understandable, and then he manages, “…someone there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Jon, I’m just talking to Peter, we didn’t mean to wake you up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon makes a disgruntled noise. “Lukas?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I…” He pauses for a long moment, considering words as a concept. “…I don’t like him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Jon. You don’t have to talk to him. Go back to sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmh.” He smushes his face into Martin’s shoulder again, so his next words are indistinct. “Tell him… </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> him I don’t like him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. Martin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can hear you, Archivist,” Peter informs him. He sounds faintly amused; Martin doesn’t know how to feel about that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon says “oh,” and then without missing a beat, clearer than anything he’s said yet, “Fuck off, Lukas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a concentrated effort for Martin to avoid laughing as Peter’s eyes widen and then narrow, affronted. “He’s very confused right now,” he offers diplomatically. “Not really thinking about what he’s saying.” Jon doesn’t have anything more to add, but Martin feels the puff of air from his own silent laughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm.” Peter doesn’t seem to care- probably running out of his limited supply of patience for conversation in general. “In any case… I hope you’ll think about what I’ve said, Martin. If </span>
  <em>
    <span>this-”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can’t quite hide his distaste for the whole situation- “is more important to you than our arrangement… well, I suppose that’s up to you to decide. If you’re still with me, I’ll be back to speak to you in, oh, an hour. Alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- …right,” Martin gets out, only after he’s left the room and probably this plane of reality. He slumps a bit, which gets him a face full of Jon’s hair. Peter may be insufferably faux-friendly and patronizing, but that doesn’t make him </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Martin shouldn’t be doing any of this. He should have- should have just called Basira or someone to come collect Jon in the first place. Instead he was weak enough to let him in and end up </span>
  <em>
    <span>holding</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, making excuses to himself all the way. If he doesn’t want to throw away the work of months, this needs to end here… just as soon as he can bring himself to end it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s broken out of his thoughts by Jon himself, pressing closer with slightly more energy than before and mumbling his name. He looks up when Martin looks down at him, cracking his eyes open and squinting against the light. “What was that, uh… what…?” He can’t find the words to finish his sentence, but it’s clear enough what he’s going for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin sighs. “I… I shouldn’t be doing this. There are- more important things, I should have known better.” He’s half trying to convince </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but Jon doesn’t need to know that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want me to leave,” says Jon, miserable and already resigned. “Because of… of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve had this conversation, Jon,” he says wearily, “it’s my decision-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” He fists his hands in Martin’s jumper as tightly as his aching muscles will allow, as if his last-ditch strategy is going to be simply refusing to let go, and buries his face in the fabric again. “M’sorry. I-I just…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. You’re not well.” Martin feels his own hands balling up as he fights the deep-buried instinct to hold Jon the same way he’s holding on himself and promise whatever is necessary to make him stop looking so despondent, however unreasonable. He doesn’t entirely win that battle. Jon exhales softly and relaxes, almost unconsciously, when Martin’s arms wrap tight around him. “I’m not just kicking you out, alright? I’ll walk you down to the archives, or- is there anyone else you can call to come and get you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I-I, uh…” He thinks about it for over a full minute, and Martin starts to wonder if he’s forgotten what question he’s answering. He sounds on the brink of losing his fragile composure again when he finally comes up with, “No. I… There’s- no one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says, helplessly. “But- Basira’s off… somewhere.” He’s used to just Knowing that sort of thing, and it throws him when the information fails to penetrate his current haze, blinking at nothing for a few more seconds before he finds the thread of what he was saying again. “Melanie hates me, a-and, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Georgie</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore- Daisy might, but she’s… I don’t think she’s here, either. She’ll be back… later, maybe. I- I don’t know, I should </span>
  <em>
    <span>know…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He shakes his head, pauses and then laughs to himself, bitter. “Maybe you could get </span>
  <em>
    <span>Helen</span>
  </em>
  <span> to take me back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely not,” Martin snaps. “Look, it’s- it’s fine. I’ll… find someone to sit with you until Daisy comes back, just- stay there for now.” He disentangles himself from Jon before the latter can protest and returns to his desk, trying to think of anyone who both won’t ask too many questions and doesn’t already have some kind of problem with Jon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can get as far as actually contacting anyone, though, he hears movement and turns to see Jon standing up. He’s still rather unsteady, but he doesn’t immediately fall, which is apparently good enough for him. “You don’t need to do that,” he tells Martin without looking directly at him. “I, I think I’ve rested enough now, I’ll just… the archives. That will help. I think. Being there, and- and Daisy will be back, uh… she’ll come back. Sometime.” He nods, trying to come off firm and decisive, and spends the next few seconds blinking himself back into focus. “I, I’m sorry for bothering you, Martin. I appreciate you- putting up with it so long. I’ll leave you alone now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin watches him leave in frozen silence and tries not to feel guilty. Maybe he should stop him- but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> seem to be feeling somewhat better, and… it might be for the best if he doesn't stay any longer. Maybe. Before he can actually come to a decision on that point, the other is already gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon is vaguely proud of himself for making it out of the office (and out of Martin’s sight) before the façade of his ability to get much </span>
  <em>
    <span>further</span>
  </em>
  <span> than that dissolves completely. He needs one hand to lean heavily on the wall and keep himself upright, but he covers his mouth with the other almost immediately, gripping his face and silencing the frankly pathetic sounds that try to escape him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not as if he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> he couldn’t stay there forever. He’s grateful to have been let in at all, let alone allowed to remain as long as he did; that nap may have been the best he’s slept in recent memory. Still. He wishes he’d also known how much it would hurt to make himself leave- even knowing it’s the right thing to do, what Martin wants, it would just be selfish to stay any longer- when he can’t see himself ever having anything like that again. He knows or at least guesses he has a fever, but he feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Martin was warm, despite the chill that clings to him these days, and somehow the only thing spared from the constant spinning-shifting-twisting of the world around him. There’s no fixed point anymore, and Jon isn’t sure where the floor is, although he suspects it’s wherever his feet are. It’s not satisfied with only his feet, though; it tries to reach for his face, and he flinches away, afraid beyond any hope of rational thought of what it will do if it catches him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he has more to be afraid of than that- with every faltering bit of progress he makes his footsteps echo, growing louder with time rather than fading away, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> just be an echo, Jon is sure, there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> or maybe a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of things, coming toward him, and he can’t even run away, he can barely </span>
  <em>
    <span>walk.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The wall is little help, moving and changing textures unpleasantly as he stubbornly persists in trying to use it for support. Even closing his eyes only leaves him navigating with an equally unreliable sense of touch, until suddenly he’s no longer looking at the darkness behind his eyelids, but a vivid memory of Helen’s corridors- one that matches what he thinks he can feel far better than reality. His eyes snap open again of their own accord when that registers, for all the good it does him, going from one unrecognizably warped version of his surroundings to a different and equally frightening one. Stupid, he shouldn’t have done that, and certainly not so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast-</span>
  </em>
  <span> his vision can’t adjust and it’s all moving and upside down, and then he isn’t walking anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The floor reaches for him again, and he can’t work out which way </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> up quickly enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> up, and it’s too late anyway. Too late to do anything other than shiver with fear and chills on the cold linoleum his face is now pressed against, and distantly wonder how far he even made it, as it’s impossible to tell where he is anymore. He thinks he’s still in the same hallway. Hopes so, at least. He watches the tiny patterns in the tiles shift and multiply and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he muffles a broken little noise that might have been a plea for it all to stop, and the Spiral’s grip on his mind only tightens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing is anything, and all of it hurts. And if he’s still where he was, whatever that means, then no one else comes up here anymore, so Jon knows it’s no more real than anything else when he feels a touch on his hand. Which doesn’t make any difference to how he flinches, trying and failing to find strength to drag himself away from it; not being real won’t stop it from hurting him in some new impossible way. He’s learned that well by now. Then there’s a sound, which breaks into shards in his head, and cuts into him when he tries to put them together and process it. Something doesn’t touch him again, and he still can’t move, although the world moves around him alarmingly. None of that is new.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> new about it is this: he’s experiencing far too much at once, still, and it still won’t make sense however he tries, but some of it isn’t so bad. Some of it is… is nice, actually. Movement that, rather than whirling him around violently and making him ill, just… rocks him a little, back and forth, soothing. Touches that don’t turn sharp or burning or any other kind of painful at all. There are sounds again, and he still can’t understand their meaning, but they’re softer now, understanding slipping through his fingers like water rather than slicing up his metaphorical hands. Jon doesn’t trust this- he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> be finally getting better, or much more likely, it could be a trick. But he latches onto the new sensations anyway, soaking up whatever relief they can give him for however long they may last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He braces for the respite to end at any moment, but somehow- unbelievably- it… doesn’t. There’s warmth around him, impossible not to lean into, and more of that gentle shifting. He isn’t on the floor anymore. He’s mildly surprised to feel so confident that he was on the floor to begin with, and not… getting pinballed around in some bright and disorienting void. The sound washing over him becomes recognizable as a voice, and Jon opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized they were closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s- some kind of pressure on him, around him, wrapping him up. Even before he can work out what it is, he feels unaccountably more secure. Held together, anchored. The chaos is pushed back to the edges of his vision, unable to compete with the reality in front of him. Although it doesn’t make </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> more sense than what he was seeing before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Martin?” he says- tries to say, at least. He’s having… trouble. With words. Remembering how to make his mouth form them properly. What he ends up with is more of a soft, questioning whine. Either way, it gets Martin to look at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as soon as he does- when he looks down and realizes Jon is awake- his expression breaks into raw emotion just briefly, before he pulls his mouth back into a tight line and fixes his eyes on the distance just above Jon’s head. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he tells him. “I wouldn’t have let you try to walk back on your own if I’d realized how bad it was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nods sheepishly, and quickly finds it’s a mistake to try moving his head right now. “I- you’re right. Sorry,” he manages. He knew all along he should’ve said something, especially once he realized he wasn’t going to make it to the lift at the end of the corridor without help. He just… didn’t want to be any more trouble, when he’d already overstayed his welcome here. Stupid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. First he couldn’t get the words to come out, now he can’t seem to keep them inside his head when he should.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just… you haven’t been thinking clearly.” They both know he’d probably be making the same bad decisions even if he were, but Martin is nice enough not to say so. “It’ll get better soon, I hope- now that you’re back in the archives and all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That startles him enough that he risks lifting his head again to look around. Sure enough, they’re in his office now, sitting on the cot he’d eventually dragged in under the reasoning that it might </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> increase his chances of getting some sleep. Martin must have… must have </span>
  <em>
    <span>carried</span>
  </em>
  <span> him all the way down here; he feels his face heat at the thought. Wouldn’t be ideal, generally, when he’s already warmer than he should be, but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his office and he doubts Martin will be here to help with that much longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The right thing, probably, would be to let him go now. He’s taken up </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> than enough of his time, and Lukas is already unhappy about it, judging by the bits and pieces he can remember of that conversation. But he hasn’t made any move to get up and leave </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Jon is exhausted and dizzy and terrified the Spiral will come back the minute he’s left alone. Maybe, if he doesn’t suggest any different, Martin will stay a little longer, at least until he falls asleep again. Jon decides to let himself be weak, just for a bit, and melts into him with a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t seem like he’s let go for a second since gathering Jon up to take him here. One of his arms is locked around Jon's waist. The other hand runs up and down his spine, light and careful, or brushes his hair back from his sweat-damp face. Every bit of gentle contact serves to push the Spiral's influence further from his mind. He can close his eyes and see only darkness. Instinctively, Jon wants to be even closer- practically burrowing into Martin, face pressed against his neck, because it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span> there. Nothing awful will happen, surely, as long as he’s here with Martin, so he can let himself relax for once, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Martin says quietly, in response to a sentiment he hadn’t meant to express out loud. “You’re safe.” His voice comes out choked, and Jon realizes suddenly that his hands are shaking, still performing his little gestures of comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Martin,” he says helplessly. He isn’t even sure what’s wrong, much less how to fix it, even though he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He inhales, pained, not at all understanding what Jon is actually thinking. “I’m here. I… look, do- do you have Daisy’s number?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon would blink at that if his eyes weren’t already shut. “In… in my contacts, probably.” He can’t remember if he bothered putting it in, much less what it is. A few seconds later he thinks to ask, “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin sighs. “I- I can’t stay much longer, Peter’s angry enough already, I’ve got to be in the office when he comes back- but you shouldn’t be alone in this state. I’m going to text her, explain the situation. Where’s your phone, then?” His shoulders go up defensively as he speaks, and it takes him a moment to notice he’s sort of crushing Jon against his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon wasn’t complaining, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> easier to answer when he can move his arms. He makes a small gesture to where he guesses his bag is sitting on the floor. Moving more than that is difficult, and looking up would only hurt his head. To be fair, the only thing that seems to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt his head is sitting very still without opening his eyes or thinking of anything at all. He isn't managing that, of course- it's a terrible irony that the headache muddles his thoughts into uselessness and yet he can't seem to stop having them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. I’ll try, at least.” He shifts, leaning forward, and Jon scrunches his face up at the movement and the loss of his full attention, despite still being completely in his lap. Martin’s hand is no longer in its place at the nape of his neck, and- it helps, the touching. Makes him feel more real, less like his own body is as imagined as the things he's been seeing. He doesn’t want Martin to go. He’s going to anyway, there’s nothing Jon can do about that, but he wants to at least soak in as much closeness as possible before he loses him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite his feelings, he unlocks his phone for Martin to type a message to Daisy, and zones out to the sound of his rhythmic tapping. Half a minute later the chime of a notification startles him back to reality, or at least the semi-reality he’s currently stuck with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin gives him a reassuring pat- melting him again instantly- and sighs to himself. Jon makes a questioning hum.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She can’t make it back for an hour, yet.” Right. Daisy. That’s what they’re doing, texting her. Because Martin can’t stay. “Will you… be alright on your own until then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon wants to be reasonable, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> does, but Martin shifts like he’s going to get up and leave right then, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s made a low, wounded noise and his grip is as tight as he can make it on the back of Martin’s jumper, face buried in his chest. “Not yet,” he pleads, muffled. “M’sorry, I- just, a, a minute, I need…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin sighs again, and he ducks his head, ashamed of himself. He’s already helped so much more than Jon had any right to expect. He apologizes again, though it’s so soft as to be unintelligible, and tries to make himself let go and pull away, to make it easier. All he manages to do is start trembling slightly with the failed effort of will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Martin says soothingly. He loops an arm around Jon’s waist and rubs his back in warm circles, and Jon is certain he’s only doing it to placate him and avert a breakdown, but that doesn’t stop it from turning him boneless with relief. “I’m not going just yet. Fifteen minutes. Try and go back to sleep, then Daisy will be here when you wake up, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm.” That does sound nice. Sleeping. Someone to sit with him who doesn’t have better things to be doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods encouragingly. “Here, just lie down…” He repositions Jon so he’s stretched out on the cot, with his head- his whole upper half, really- resting on Martin’s legs. (For his own part, Jon lets it happen and tries not to get too dizzy.) It’s an easier position to get out of when it’s time without waking him, and it allows Jon to curl up in his lap and block out the world, so everyone wins, really. Martin drapes a fuzzy blanket over his body and an arm around his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon breathes slowly and lets his eyes close with a faint smile. The fever seems to have gone down, finally letting him get comfortable, and this might actually be the best Jon has felt since… well, he isn't really sure. It's been a long time since he's felt good at all, is the rather sad point, and now he isn't in too much pain and Martin is still here and he's warm, and Jon might cry with how nice it is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't quite, though, manages to keep it together. He's very close to falling asleep when he hears Martin very quietly say his name. If he </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> asleep, he doubts it would wake him up, which is likely the idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Jon is awake, if barely, so he blinks and turns his head to look up at him with a vague "hmm?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin bites his lip. “I have to ask, Jon… Why did you go through Helen’s door in the first place?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She told me…” He fumbles for the right words. “She said she was trying to help, that- that it would be better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you… believed her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon is silent for a long time, until it starts to look like he might be asleep after all. “For a certain definition of the words,” he says at last, “yes, I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Martin’s turn for a long pause now, turning that over. “You thought she was going to kill you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was… one of the possibilities I considered,” he admits. “And not the worst.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhales harshly. “God </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.” Anger hasn’t crept into his voice so much as rushed in all at once like a wave. “That’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>better,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon. You know that’s not- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shrinks back at the tone, but his retort comes out steady, if quiet. “Isn’t it?” He laughs mirthlessly. “No one- no one else wants me </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Martin. I barely want </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself</span>
  </em>
  <span> alive. It’s not as if I have any </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be, at this point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop,” he snaps. It works, maybe a little too well. Martin tries to soften his tone enough that Jon won’t think he’s ruined everything. “It doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says, “what anyone else thinks, or- or what should have happened. You’re here now, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> need you to stay that way, alright?” He swallows. “I know I… haven’t been around. But I still </span>
  <em>
    <span>care,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon. I still, I… I need you to be okay.” His voice has grown raw with emotion, and he coughs, trying to bring himself under control. “So could you just- </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> not to get yourself killed, please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The attempt at humor falls decidedly flat. Jon stares at him for a few seconds, and then whatever he intends to say in reply comes out as a quiet sob instead, and the floodgates are opened. He can only curl up and cling to Martin, trying to express through his actions alone how badly he needed to hear that and how strongly he feels the same, needs </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be safe, too. Martin leans down and wraps his arms around him, surrounding him on all sides, and Jon doesn’t bite his tongue fast enough on a pitiful whisper, “Don’t leave again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here,” Martin whispers back, “you’re okay,” and rocks him a little, and Jon lets himself believe that’s the same thing. By the time he calms down, he can’t keep his eyes open. He’s exhausted himself, Martin is still here and holding him, and there are very few things that could prevent him from falling asleep almost immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the day he’s had, there are even </span>
  <em>
    <span>fewer</span>
  </em>
  <span> things that could wake him up, and yet he finds himself unwillingly returned to consciousness, groggy and confused. His first thought is that the fever and chills have returned, leaving him damp with sweat and cold and weak, but then his auditory processing abilities start to come online, and he knows it’s worse. Peter Lukas is here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s talking to Martin. Who is also still here. Jon can’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes, then. His thoughts are briefly drowned out with the hot, teary frustration of not being allowed to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but even that is overtaken by dread when a little more understanding filters in. More than just talking, this is an argument. Both of them sound coldly angry. It worries him coming from Lukas, of course, but it’s almost worse to hear Martin sound so like him. He doesn’t have his arms around Jon anymore, and while he understands why, he also misses it sharply. Now, there’s only a thin layer of blanket to shield him from the gathering fog. If there’s anything he could be doing, his head is too full of static to think of it. He still barely even knows what’s happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He listens harder, even though it hurts his head to pick out the words, trying not to let them know he’s awake. Lukas is angry because Martin is here, with Jon, and not in his office waiting for him. Martin is angry, too, reminding him of his own claim that he wouldn’t force the issue, and besides, it hasn’t even been a full hour- for all he knows, Martin was just about to leave when he showed up, and what was he doing in the archives anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was slightly reassured by Martin’s willingness to argue back, until he said that. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter Lukas doing down here? Checking for Martin, he wants to think, but he also remembers how certain the man had seemed earlier that Martin would do as he said. He can’t help wondering if he’s so annoyed to find Martin here because he’d walked in expecting to find Jon, alone. Jon wasn’t afraid of him the last time- if only because he was too busy being delirious- but now, he has to stop himself from flinching away every time he hears his voice so close behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not here to force you into anything,” Lukas says with a strong edge of impatience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’ve said.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m giving you a choice, that’s all. You’re a smart man, Martin. I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, but I know you don’t really think it’s worth the end of the world.” He pauses. “This doesn’t need to be such an ordeal, really. You’re, what, concerned that your Archivist will hurt himself? Tell you what. I’ll watch him until someone else comes in, and you can relax and get back to work. How does that sound?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clearly thinks that’s a reasonable compromise, that Martin will agree. Martin, hearing it, goes still, and Jon can’t tell what he’s thinking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he doesn’t want to be here any longer, given the option, then Jon should- should let him go. He should have let him go much sooner, really, if he’d been able to bring himself to do it. Not make it any harder on him than it needs to be. After all, Martin has been dealing with Peter Lukas for months; surely Jon can handle an hour alone in a room with him, most of which he’ll likely be asleep. (If he can relax at all. If Lukas isn’t planning to hurt him as soon as Martin is out of the way.) He’s survived so much worse. And yet- maybe it’s to do with how completely unable to defend himself he is right now- his breath hitches at the suggestion, and the next unnatural breeze that brushes over the back of his neck tears a frightened little sound from his throat. He curses silently- they must know he’s awake </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, Jon. Finally joining us?” Lukas sets a cold hand on his shoulder, and he gasps and flinches away. He tries to look back at him, but the sudden movement makes his vision go tilty and blurred. He sees Martin glare, though, and smack the offending hand away from him. Jon’s arm feels like it’s lost circulation, only warming again when Martin’s touch lingers protectively for a moment. Lukas just chuckles and takes a deep breath, like he's savoring the fear that must be radiating from him at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon gathers the energy and nerve to lift his head and says with some difficulty, “Get out.” He can feel the energy in the room get even more hostile. But- it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> office they’re in. He shouldn’t have to put up with people he hates trying to intimidate him in his own office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think so.” If the air was chilled before, it’s freezing now. “You’re not really in any position to be ordering me around,” Lukas points out lightly. Jon can’t move, but he thinks he might be shaking a little. “And Martin has more important things to do than shield you from the consequences of your own bad decisions, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped distracting him from his work.” He takes a moment to watch Jon struggling to breathe evenly. “Are we clear, Archivist?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Martin cuts in. He straightens his back and settles his arm deliberately over Jon’s shoulders, drawing him closer and breaking the spell. Jon’s mind goes blank with pure relief. He buries his face in Martin’s front and squeezes his eyes shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lukas takes a second to spit out, “What?” Flat, not quite believing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t, actually. Have anything more important to do. In fact, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> most of what I’ve been doing for you has been pointless all along.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true,” he protests. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s not true. I need you. You’re the only one who can-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lukas is too taken aback to do anything else. He's definitely angry, though. Every instinct Jon has is telling him to be as small and quiet as possible. There's nothing he can do, with his head so muddled and useless- there's </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything he can do, it seems, and his best option is trying not to provoke anyone. Martin squeezes his arm. He’s close to shouting, but he still touches Jon softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I’m talking about, Peter. I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>done.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That's what I'm saying right now. Do you know why I agreed to work with you? Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You told me everyone else would be safe, and I didn't much care about myself, and yeah, for a while I believed you about the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>end of the world</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing. But- you can't </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> expect me to believe I'm the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only one</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire</span>
  </em>
  <span> world who can help you, and no one's </span>
  <em>
    <span>been</span>
  </em>
  <span> safe, plus you keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>vanishing</span>
  </em>
  <span> people so you won't have to actually solve problems, and I just- I'm done. Find someone else to put up with your bullshit, or better yet, give it up altogether and go back to pretending you’re a sailor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Martin, be reasonable,” he tries, “we can talk about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t. The deal is off, and Jon already told you to get out of his office. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Leave.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffs. It’s taking him an obvious effort to restrain himself. “Fine. I’ll leave you two alone. When you realize the mistake you’re making, you know how to find me.” With that ominous statement, he disappears from the room. Jon can’t quite be sure whether or not the door factored in. He’s slightly busy hoping that, whatever awful consequences Lukas was threatening, they at least won’t make themselves known </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon? Jon, hey. Look at me. You’re okay, he’s gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon realizes he’s tensed up and shaking again and blinks, trying to focus on Martin’s face. As the fear starts to seep out of his body and let his muscles relax, he sighs at himself. Can’t make it through an argument he isn’t even part of without panicking. Martin has to be getting tired of calming him down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only because I don’t want you upset in the first place.” Did he say that out loud again? “And I’m… I’m staying. For good.” Martin’s voice wavers, but he doesn’t take it back. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going back upstairs, I don’t care what he says. It… doesn’t look like it was helping like it was supposed to, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes him a few seconds to be able to process the words. A few more to convince himself he really heard them, that they aren’t just another part of the waking dreams he’s been having. He pushes himself upright, despite the difficulty of moving and the room spinning around him, to throw his arms around Martin’s shoulders and bury his face in his neck. “Thank you,” he breathes. He can still hardly believe he’s coming back to stay, just like that- he’s afraid to let go in case Martin disappears. “I- I’ve missed you so much, Martin, I…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” His voice catches and he doesn’t go so far as to apologize, but he does say, “I’m not leaving again.” He returns Jon’s grip on him, pulling him flush against his chest and supporting him when he struggles to hold himself up. His breathing goes unsteady after a moment. Jon doesn’t have the words to help, but he holds on tight and does what he can, brushing an uncoordinated hand through Martin’s hair. It’s sort of a clumsy gesture of comfort, but Martin leans into it anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon takes some time to gather his thoughts before breaking the quiet. “About… about what you said just then- to him,” he eventually starts, halting. “I, I think we should talk-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can make it to the point, he’s interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Except- the door of his office has never been that creaky, has it? Jon sighs, too worn out to feel anything other than resigned, and turns his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello again, Archivist,” says Helen. “Oh, and Martin!” She claps her hands. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gets an odd look in her eye when she turns her attention to Martin, and Jon finds he has a bit of energy left after all. He straightens as well as he can and turns to face her. He knows he’s not especially impressive, wrapped in a blanket and swaying slightly as he grips Martin’s jumper to keep his balance, but he doesn’t know what she’s planning, and- whatever her intentions are for him, he doesn’t want to drag Martin into it as well if he can help it. “What do you want now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles indulgently, as if he’s being silly, and takes a few steps into the room and toward them. Martin stiffens. “Don’t,” he warns, despite Jon’s efforts to silently will him to let </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> handle this. He crosses his arms protectively over Jon’s chest. “Haven’t you had your fun already?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon latches onto Martin’s wrist automatically. “Helen…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She only looks more amused the more defensive they both get. “Relax,” she laughs, the sound echoing discordantly around the room and making Jon forget what he was going to say next. “As </span>
  <em>
    <span>adorable</span>
  </em>
  <span> as this is, I’m not here to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He decides to believe she means it, if only because there’s nothing he can do to stop her even if she changes her mind. He rubs a hand over his face and nods. “Fine, alright. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you here for, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To say hello,” she says, sounding hurt at the implication that she could have any but the most innocent of motives. “Can’t I drop in and chat with my friends? How </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you doing, by the way, after our little excursion earlier?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not well.” Jon aims for a dry tone, but his voice comes out as tired as he feels. Martin reaches for his hand, maybe unconsciously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helen tilts her head in a manner suggesting a broken neck. “You could </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be positive. You’re feeling better than before, aren’t you? I thought a change of scenery would do you some good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing about talking to Helen is that, for all he knows, she might genuinely mean that. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing is… he’d obviously like to disagree, but as he looks away from her to avoid being made any dizzier, he can’t help at least considering it. Physically, he feels awful, to be sure, but that was true long before she had anything to do with it. And mentally, emotionally… well, Martin is here now. He isn’t feeling awful </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You see,” she says smugly, watching his expression. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon frowns, trying to follow that thought to its logical conclusion. His mind isn’t working all that quickly right now. Martin seems to get there before he does, judging by the choked-off, disbelieving noise he makes in Helen’s direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks between them with an eyebrow raised and smirks. “I believe my work here is done. Have fun, you two!” She waves and disappears back through her door, which disappears as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon stares at where it used to be and exhales slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t… understand what just happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Martin sighs, and then, “You’re tired,” which is more of a deflection than anything. He amends it after a moment: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> tired, and you’re barely keeping your eyes open. Do you think we could save worrying about Helen, and, and whatever other serious things we need to talk about for later?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon has to admit that’s fair, since it’s difficult enough right now to even focus enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> about them. “Mm,” he agrees, “I suppose.” He turns around in Martin’s grasp, tucks his face deliberately into the crook of his neck and tries to relinquish the tension in his body. It’s all over, for now. They can rest. Martin won’t disappear if he falls asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Good.” He sounds a bit lost, like he was expecting more of an argument, or maybe he’s just too exhausted for full sentences. It really has been a long time since he slept well, and it’s difficult to fathom now why he was so insistent on staying awake and working before. Martin cradles Jon to his chest and leans back as they both allow their eyes to drift closed.</span>
</p>
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